toRnAdic He held his spear in his mouth as he crept, low to the ground, each step filling the pawprint his front legs left behind, a perfect stalking maneuver for the boy as he stalked through the dark. He had decided that morning that he would go out and make his first solo kill, and now after a day of mental preparation he was finally ready. He lowered his head to the ground, sniffing fresh tracks left behind by his quarry; a beaver. He checked nearby foliage, checking for gnaw marks on trees and branches and checking the signs for freshness. He slinked on in the darkness spear in his jaws as he crept through the night following webbed tracks in the snow. He heard the trickle of water from a nearby river and lowered himself further each step silent and measured. With his snow and shadow pelt he blended into the dark perfectly. He watched his quarry busily worrying a stick in its webbed paws to add it to its steadily forming dam. The one he spotted was one of many, he counted four waddling over the wooden structure but his target was closest to him. He gripped his spear tightly in his jaws and made a note to show Heloise his kill when he killed it. She would be so proud he was sure. All was stillness, the crickets and frogs chirping in the silent black night, the stars twinkling overhead, the moon illuminating his quarry and the shelter they had made. It was a perfect moment, utterly quiet and full of gentle unsuspecting movement. He coiled his neck to the side and flung the spear, hearing it sink into flesh and the frightened gasp of his target. He heard the splashes of the other beavers abandoning their companion as they fled and quickly, he was on his paws following the path his spear had made to the writhing beaver. He lunged for his prey grasping its flat tail in his jaws and pulling it with all the strength in his gangly body while it attempted to flee with the spear still in its side. He pinned the beaver down, feeling the raft of sticks and mud shift under him as he attempted to pull the rodent onto the shore, his fur getting soaked as the creature splashed and writhed in the water, staining the river red. With another lunge he grasped the beaver by the scruff and shook his head, stunning it. He moved as fast as his legs were able, dragging beaver and spear onto solid ground, his fangs gripping the oily fur tightly as he moved. He was all movement, bringing the limp fat body to the shore and pulling his spear from its side with his paws. The beaver sprang to life again with a shriek writhing furiously in his grasp. He shook his head again but this time the beaver remained conscious. He adjusted his grip to grasp the bleeding rodent around the throat, his tail flashing like a war banner behind him. He shook his head once, twice, feeling blood fill his mouth and trickle onto the ground under him. He lowered his body carefully holding the still beaver, waiting until he was sure it was dead. He gripped the beaver tightly then pulled his head to the side, hearing the beavers neck snap. It was over. He had won. He dropped the limp carcass on the ground, panting, his heart racing. He tipped his head back and howled victoriously a wide grin on his features as he looked down at his won meal. He ripped into the carcass and attacked the soft hot meat, its blood steaming in the cold night air as he ate. He licked his bloody chops, pulling flesh and fat from the carcass as he ate his fill. It was all his and he didn’t need to share it with anyone because he had caught it by himself. It didn’t matter that he was grounded and forced to stay in the pines, he could make the pines his official hunting grounds and would track and kill everything by himself or with his brother Tyto. He thought off Poem then and the promise he had made to make his own pack, that dream seemed distant now as he thought of Winterfell. He could feel at home here, and be rewarded with a high rank like his father. He howled again, a long forlorn call inviting others from his pack to join him. They would be grateful that he had caught a meal for them, and they would applaud his skill as a hunter. He was sure of it. He collected his spear and sat before the still steaming kill, licking the blood off his lips as he waited to be joined by others who would be eager to congratulate him. Word Count: 811 Speech

i'm working on my faults and cracks The journey north had felt so long. Now that the recovery efforts at the thicket had progressed and then slowed with the arrival of autumn, Shaye had thought now was as good a time as any for Theory to make her first "diplomatic" visit. Winterfell was the obvious choice, seeing as Acere had spent some time within their ranks as he planned his next move. There were plenty of wolves here that were around her own age, but so far the visit had been a lot of "sit quietly and nod politely" while the adults talked - which, of course, Theory was excellent at. But after a day and a half of being on her best possible behavior, she was feeling just a little bit... itchy. As they were getting ready to head back to Abaven, Theo caught the thick scent of freshly spilled blood on the air. She shot Shaye a pleading look and was gleefully surprised when Abaven's alpha dismissed her with a smile. Turning tail, Theory set off to track the scent. It was a beaver, she'd know that musk anywhere. There were quite a few by the rapids. Trying to ignore the northern bite in the already unseasonably cool autumn air, Theory set her nose to the ground and focused on the task at hand. It wasn't long before she came upon Tornadic, sitting before his prize. "Hello," she announced herself, her tail flagging high and ears pricked. Her entire body read: excitement! "I haven't seen you in a while... did you kill that beaver all by yourself?" Theory asked, admiration creeping into her voice. They were quick, wily little creatures and made all the more difficult to catch due to their semi-aquatic nature. If Tornadic was able to bag one, Theory thought him quite the hunter. It didn't smell like anyone else had been around these parts since yesterday, so it stood to reason that he caught it all on his own. "How are you liking Winterfell?" Theo added, keeping a polite distance from Torn's meal. It was rude to assume you were invited to someone else's dinner, after all. "theory speaks!" filling in the blanks and gaps

toRnAdic He gave a red grin to the black female as she approached him, she wasn’t from Winterfell but he vaguely recognized her from Abaven. He and his siblings had spent most of their time around Poem and Motif but he knew the scent of the eastern pack well having spent all of two weeks there against his will. “I did!” He answered proudly. “Want some?” He asked. There was still a good amount of meat left on the cadaver but it was cooling quickly in the night air. He didn’t know the girl’s name, but he supposed now was a good a time as any to learn it. She asked how he was liking Winterfell and he found himself smiling wider if that was even possible. “I like it a lot. My dad grounded me, but I’ll be allowed to go wherever I want after Autumn.” He explained. “And I’ll get to find my familiar.” He swished his tail at the thought of having a hunting companion to aid him, no doubt it would be a strong animal, like himself, deadly and capable of helping him fight of Noir when they crossed paths again. Speech